


call me home, beloved

by nicolorenaldigenovia



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Hurt/Comfort, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani and Nicky | Nicolò di Genova are in Love, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani is an Incurable Romantic, M/M, Post-Canon, Soft Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Soft Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, character introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28290819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicolorenaldigenovia/pseuds/nicolorenaldigenovia
Summary: “I want to spend some time alone, with you,” Joe says in response, slowly, after a moment. And he feels breathless, like he’s back in that room again, filled with smoke. In that non-descript room that had only meant to be one of passing, but instead will forever haunt his memories and dreams for a while. Grey and fogged, with Nicolò staring up at him with unseeing eyes, and that sinking feeling that his world ended right at that moment because Nicolò is dead.***A month after Merrick Industries, Joe finds himself wanting to be alone with Nicolò, as he starts to feel himself unravel.***or a glimpse on what Joe means when he said:“he's the moon when I am lost in darkness”
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 21
Kudos: 220





	call me home, beloved

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theexistentialteapot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theexistentialteapot/gifts).



> Written for the TOG HQ Secret Santa for the wonder theexistentialteapot (theoldkenzari on tumblr)! I hope you like it, Emma!

When the idea comes to Joe’s mind, he speaks it aloud. And Nicolò isn’t happy with it.

“You want to leave,” his beloved says, voice soft and unreadable. Except, Nicolò’s voice hasn’t been unreadable for centuries. He knows his husband as much as he knows the cherished feeling of the first time he had ever put charcoal against paper in his youth. Something that he would never forget, something that he would know as fact. So no, it’s not that he cannot read Nicolò’s tone.

He just doesn’t like what he’s reading.

His fist clenches for a moment against the bedding under him. They are, after all, sitting stiffly in bed. Not touching, and a part of Joe breaks a little at the realization.

He’s feeling vulnerable, it seems. Or maybe that’s not the right word.

Nicolò had woken up at the crack of dawn, and for the first time in a long time, Joe awoke with him. He loved sleeping in, at any given opportunity. But lately, since the labs, since everything, Joe had chased after Nicolò’s early hours with a poor excuse of his own.

If he were to say it aloud, honestly, he just wanted to make sure that when he opened his eyes, it’d be with Nicolò, and when he closes it for sleep, it too would be with Nicolò. A phantom taste makes itself known then, acrid and _ripping_ , and it makes him want to gasp for breath.

It’s the memory of it all that brings it all forward.

Because as soon as they separated, Joe had watched Nicolò lay on his back for a few moments, just staring at the ceiling, and in its quiet and the crawling desperation in his mind, he had asked if they could take a few weeks, maybe a month, to get their bearings alone. His husband stiffened as soon as he asked the question, and sat up. And they had been sitting on the bed like that, since.

“I want to spend some time alone, with you,” Joe says in response, slowly, after a moment. And he feels breathless, like he’s back in that room again, filled with smoke. In that non-descript room that had only meant to be one of passing, but will forever haunt his memories and dreams for a while. Grey and fogged, Nicolò staring up at him with unseeing eyes, and that sinking feeling that his world ended right at the moment because Nicolò is dead.

Until he wasn’t, and Joe found himself being thankful at the sound of Nicolò gasping for breath. It never meant anything good before. And now…it meant life. Living. Living.

What if it didn’t happen? What if his last moments with Nicolò, alone before then, truly, had been that mere moments where they tried to think of better days while strapped down in the lab? When they tried to think of Malta, of times where they were carefree, and unharmed?

Joe wants more of those moments. He wants a better moment alone with his husband.

With his Nicolò.

He thinks of repeating himself, because his beloved doesn’t answer. Not quickly at least, and Joe wonders, and in a moment of vulnerability, _hopes,_ that Nicolò heard the breathlessness of his reason. That he could see that Joe is struggling, just a little bit, to say it aloud. It happens, from time to time, when even Joe doesn’t have the words to describe what he’s feeling.

It’s like all his words are reserved for his beloved, ready and complete at a moment’s notice. But when it comes to the struggles of his own mind, if it _were_ to wade in some darkness once in a while, Joe can admit, that he can have much difficulty of it. He’s known this, even before his very first death. And Nicolò knows it too.

Nicolò shifts beside him, and then there’s a gentle hand on his, and Joe blinks, looking down.

His hand had been clenched into a tight fist, gripping, nails digging into the cloth of the bedding like it had somewhat offended him, knuckles nearly white with the force of his grip. And his husband’s hand is gentle, on it, stroking gently from the back of his hand, then sliding up to the fingers.

Then Joe watches as Nicolò gently coaxes his grip of the sheet, the tips of his fingers gently stroking at his knuckles until he finds himself releasing it, his shoulders slumping as the tension bleeds out of him. As soon as his fingers are loose, his husband gently slides his own hand under his, and intertwines their fingers together.

And he holds Joe’s hand in his, and squeezes it gently. Catching his hand, holding it up.

“Yusuf.”

Joe blinks, and he looks up at Nicolò then, and finds him staring at him, eyes much softer than it had been at the beginning of the conversation. His voice is soft, but it held a tone of urgency now. One that Joe will always recognize. Because it’s always, only, reserved for him.

He finds himself gulping as he stares into Nicolò’s eyes, and he lets out a shaky breath. He’s seen Nicolò dead before, many times, by his own hand even. But it seems like a part of him was bothered after seeing Nicolò in his last death, with Andromache’s mortality at the forefront of his mind. He was going to lose his sister, and in that moment, after Nicolò had been shot, he was afraid that he was going to lose the love of his life.

Bothered might be too kind of a word to describe what he’s feeling. No. He’s not bothered.

He feels unhinged.

That’s the word.

“What ails you?” he hears Nicolò say, and he feels him shifting again, tugging on his hand now. “I’m with you, right here, Yusuf.”

Joe lets out a soft sound and there’s tears pooling in his eyes at the tenderness of it all, and he finds himself craving it, just as he melts. He moves then, and soon he’s straddling his husband and wrapping his arms around him, burying his face in his shoulder. The sheets shift over him, sliding away, but he feels it be placed over his shoulders, Nicolò wrapping him in it effectively before slipping his arms around him, under it, squeezing him.

“I am here, my love,” Nicolò whispers against his ear, breath hot against his neck and Joe feels himself fall apart just as his eyes slide close.

With a shudder, a soft sob escapes him and he clings to his husband. There’s no other word with how his arms tighten around Nicolò, and how he gets a corresponding squeeze in return. He feels cherished arms crossing over his back, gentle fingers gently slipping through his curls, stroking and sweet. Grounding and firm and needed.

“Please,” he gasps to Nicolò, and he’s clearly begging this time. “I want some time with you. I want more moments with you while we still have time,” he gasps.

He doesn’t remember the last thing he had thought, so viscerally, about not having enough time with his beloved. It had been years, maybe even a century or two since the fear had crossed his mind.

And now it’s the only thing he can think of. He doesn’t want to lose his husband. He doesn’t want to lose his love.

Nicolò makes a soft noise then, and he’s pulling away, his hands moving to frame Joe’s face as he sniffles, eyes closed. Familiar calloused thumbs gently stroke against his cheeks, before a soft, gentle kiss presses against his lips. He chases it then, leans into it with a sigh.

“My love, look at me,” Nicolò whispers, against his lips, barely a breath away. “Let me see your eyes.”

Joe opens his eyes then and finds himself staring into his husband’s soft eyes. Nicolò’s lips quirk into a smile as soon as it does, and he’s leaning in again, kissing him softly, before gently pulling away.

“We have time,” Nicolò says, with such surety that Joe is envious of it. “You and I…we are tethered. We are meant to be together. The universe knows it,” he says, and Joe sobs, shaking his head.

“And if it doesn’t?”

Nicolò stares at him then, and pulls him in, pressing their foreheads together. His eyes slide close again and he feels Nicolò pull him closer, impossibly so.

“It does. It’s known it for this long now, long before we fell in love. Why would it change its mind now?”

There’s a kiss on his forehead that renders him speechless with its sweetness, letting his husband’s words sink into his aching heart, breathing in and out shakily.

“And if it does? Change its mind?” he whimpers out, and Nicolo sighs shakily then.

“Then we make the most of it, my love,” he whispers, pulling him into a kiss as Joe continues to cry, holding him, tethering him, keeping him together as he feels himself unravel completely.

***

The next morning, Joe awakes to Nicolò reading while he lays his head on his chest, feeling exhausted. There’s a hand in his curls, stroking gently. He sits up then, and leans in, smiling when his dear beloved meets him half way, and presses his forehead against his own. They stay like that for a moment, and when they pull away, Joe just shifts closer, and wraps an arm around Nicolò’s shoulders.

“Good morning,” he says, looking down at the book just as careful hands close it, one of Joe’s thought lost photo ID from the 90s carefully marking the page. He had taken the matching one of Nicolò’s from Copley’s board. He watches as the book is then moved to the bedside table, and then his husband is turning fully to him, going on his knees.

He looks up then, and meets his gaze with a slight tilt of the head.

“I talked to Andy and Nile, after you fell asleep,” Nicolò starts, giving him a small smile. “We leave the day after tomorrow, if you want” he says, voice soft. “And they’re leaving this evening.”

Joe blinks then.

“Huh?”

Nicolò shrugs lightly then, leaning in and kissing him gently. “Andy told me we should take some time, and she’s going to take care of Nile.”

Joe blinks again, and reaches for Nicolò’s hand. “And we’re okay with that?” he asks, because he knows that this is where Nicolò’s hesitation comes from. He is just as worried for Andy as much as he is, and just as wanting to care for Nile as much as he does.

But his husband squeezes his hand and laughs weakly then. “We have to be okay with it. I have to be okay with it. And as Nile told me this morning, ‘It’s not like you’re leaving us forever, right?’”

Joe lets out a soft laugh then, for he can truly imagine Nile saying such things. In the month since Merrick, he has learned that she is a formidable force, just like Andy. A woman whose mind is a force to be reckoned with, but honestly, anyone who can fling themselves off buildings without hesitation gets his respect.

He just knows that he and Nile would have many more adventures in the future.

And already, he can see that she will be the best, of all of them.

“She’s the best of us, I think,” he says aloud, and Nicolò, again, nods without hesitation.

“We’ve much to learn from her. With her, we’ll do much good in the world. But right now, I must take care of my husband,” he says, tugging on his hand then and pulling Joe in, and Joe, like many times before, lets himself fall for Nicolò.

“And if he needs us to be alone, then that is what I shall give him.”

Soon, they are pressing close and exchanging kisses and breath, Joe sliding back on the bed, on his back with Nicolò now looking down at him, pressed firmly against his body, one hand stroking his curls. And Joe can see that his beloved’s eyes are flicking all over his face, and he sighs.

“What do you see?” he asks, voice soft. For his husband sees him in ways that sometimes he cannot even comprehend.

Nicolò’s eyes sadden, shining with tears, and when he blinks, they remain glassy, but none of them fall. Joe reaches up still though, and traces a thumb over his cheek, biting his lip when his husband’s eyes blink close again, catching a tear then.

“Fear. You’re afraid to lose me,” he says, and Joe nods shakily.

“I feel off-balanced,” he finds himself admitting, his chest heaving as soon as the words come out. “Like gravity is pulling me down, and there’s fire in my chest that does nothing but destroy. It burns to mock me with the idea that one day, there will be a point in time in this world where I can exist without you,” he gasps, and the tears streaming from his eyes again.

But Nicolo’s quick to wipe at them, staring down at him and nodding as he cries, his hand still gently stroking his curls, tugging gently, grounding. Always grounding.

Especially when it hurts this much.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he gasps, and Nicolò presses forward, catching him into a kiss that he desperately accepts, whimpering against his lips as he feels his husband’s body against his. “It’s too much to think about that this can happen.”

Joe cannot fathom it. He cannot bare it; it burns inside him too much.

“You’re not going to lose me,” Nicolò says firmly against his lips, kissing him again, and this time, he tugs at his bottom lip gently with his teeth, marking and urgent. His eyes are still glassy with tears, but they’re no longer falling. “You and I are here, together. I am at your side, forever. I will do everything I can to be here by your side, forever,” he says, and Joe whimpers.

“But—”

“But nothing,” his beloved growls against his lips this time, before kissing him again, and Joe moans deeply into it. “But nothing, Yusuf. This fire that mocks? That burns in your chest? Let me calm it, let me get rid of it, for you. Like I always have, my love. Since I’ve turned my ways, have I steered you wrong yet?” he asks, and Joe shakes his head immediately, gasping.

“Never…never. Oh, _ya amar_ please,” he gasps. “Lead me from these thoughts,” he begs, because he does not like how the darkness creeps in, while the thoughts burn through him from the inside.

Nicolò nods then and smiles, kissing his forehead softly, before framing his face again. “I have you, Yusuf. I have you, let me guide you,” he whispers, and he’s leaning in and kissing him again, and again. And his beloved is sweet and he yearns for him, and he allows himself to be pulled, led, loved, and adored.

For his Nicolò remains his moon, leading him in the darkness of his mind, reminding him exactly of where he needs to be, of where home is. For his beloved fights the gravity that threatens to pull Joe asunder, and rises the waves into a tidal, strong and powerful, and smothers the burns fire that mocks deep inside Joe’s chest, ridding the flames that sparked the darkness of such thoughts.

“I have you,” Nicolo whispers against his skin, and Joe, for a moment, feels like a fool for ever being so distraught by the idea. But it soon fades, as his beloved continues to grip him tight, and call him home. And as promised, Nicolò holds him, and drives away the burn of the fires in his chest, and Joe breaks through the fever of it all, gasping and sated, but no longer exhausted.

The gravity still fights to pull him, but now there’s a tug up above, keeping him upright, and above ground, breathing and alive.

“I love you,” Nicolò whispers against his lips as he continues to breath against him, their chest heaving against each other, and Joe follows him when he moves to lay beside him. He curls up against him, throwing a leg over, smiling against his husband’s neck when Nicolò throws his head back against the pillow and laughs, pulling him close at the same time.

“I love you too, beloved,” he says against his neck, kissing his collar, hand gently stroking against the lines of Nicolò’s chest.

He feels a kiss on his forehead, and Nicolò’s cheek pressing against his curls. He hears him breathe, hears how it stutters, for a moment, and he reaches for his hand then, squeezing, looking up.

“Beloved?”

His dear husband smiles at him weakly, and leans in, pressing his forehead against his, then presses a gentle kiss on his lips again, sighing softly.

“I have the same fears, my heart,” Nicolò whispers. “But I know…I trust that we will be fine. If forces were to work against us…then that’s how it must be. But I know if it be willing, you and I will remain at each other’s side.”

“Everything happens for a reason,” Joe croaks out, and Nicolò laughs then, knowing when his own words are being used against him.

“And if the reason is stupid, then I will fight it,” his beloved continues, and when the laughter bubbles from Joe’s chest, it’s warm instead of burning, unbidden and gleeful. And it’s amazing that even after so many years, his husband is still so capable of knowing exactly what to say, and how to say it, in order to bring Joe back home again.

Joe leans forward again and smiles into the kiss the meets him, sighing against his lips, before settling again, this time Nicolò laying with him, facing him, watching his face again.

When Nicolò places his hand on his cheek, Joe puts his atop of it, and pulls it close to his lips, kisses his palm, while still into his eyes.

“What do you see?” he asks again. For again, his husband sees him in ways that can be so unknown to him.

“My heart, and his easing soul,” the love of his life whispers, smiling then, glinting and bright and all for him only. “At least, I hope.”

“You hope correct,” he answers immediately, nipping at the tip of his fingers then. Nicolò’s gaze turns playful then, half-lidded and observing, biting his bottom lip as he continues to watch Joe’s face.

“I see my Yusuf is feeling better,” he continues, and when Joe nods, he moves closer, moves over him, on him, framing his face with both of his hands. The sheets fall away from him, and this time, Nicolò doesn’t wrap him back in it protectively, but instead he wraps his arms around him, hands gentle against his bare back.

“You are correct,” Joe whispers softly, smiling over him, kissing his forehead gently. And then his nose, and then his lips. Gently at first, and then deeply. And each time, Nicolò breathes him in, sighing sweetly, melting in his embrace, a soft gasp escaping him as Joe presses closer.

Nicolò pulls him close by the back of his neck, and presses their foreheads together. They stare into each other’s’ eyes then, and Joe can’t help but sigh as Nicolò’s breath mixes with his, his soft voice, inviting and full of love, tethers and grounds and welcomes and heals him altogether.

“I’m glad you’re back,” his heart tells him, and Joe feels at peace.

For no matter what darkness grips him in his mind, Joe will always, forevermore, come back to his Nicolò.


End file.
